I don’t think Christmas is necessarily about things. It’s about being good to one another, it’s about kindness.
~Carrie Fisher
It was Christmas Eve as I embarked upon a depressing adventure with my debit card at the store. I had only a few hundred dollars remaining to get me through December, so I purchased a few necessities and tried not to look at the stacks of pricey cookies, pies and candies. From the store’s PA system, Nat King Cole reminded me that turkey and mistletoe could make everything bright. I couldn’t afford either.
All the way home, my cantankerous Buick spat and sputtered, stalling at nearly every intersection. “Get me home, you old clunker,” I muttered. “You’re not going to the mechanic today! You know exactly how broke I am!”
She knew all right, but she didn’t care. She let out a huge belch and stalled a few blocks from home. I yelled at her. I threatened her. I pounded her steering wheel. Finally, I took a deep breath and asked her to get me home, promising a trip to the repair shop after unloading my groceries. The Buick roared back to life.
I got to the repair shop twenty minutes before they were closing for Christmas Eve. But the receptionist in this small, independent shop cheerfully greeted me and agreed to have the mechanics examine my vehicle. A skeleton crew of three men was still on the clock, enjoying some well-deserved cookies and camaraderie before checking out for their holiday. Without complaint, they proceeded to the bay to diagnose the demon I had dragged to their doorstep.
I sat in the waiting room sweating profusely. How was I going to afford this? The receptionist offered to make me a cup of coffee in the pot she had just cleaned and put away. I politely declined and wrung my hands in desperation.
At 4:30, the receptionist locked the front door. I apologized over and over again for ruining her plans, but she assured me that everything was fine and that it was important to have a car that could get me where I needed to be on Christmas. I sat back down, feeling guilty but also feeling a bit of warmth creeping into my heart.
Thirty minutes later, the head mechanic returned to the shop and handed me my keys. “She’s all ready, Mr. Ramsey.” He proceeded to recite a string of mechanical terms describing my car’s ailments and her treatment plan. I understood very little.
I trembled as the man listed everything on the bill. I visibly shook as I reached for my wallet and extracted my weathered bankcard. In a few moments I was going to throw up. The mechanic and the receptionist glanced at the clock, then glanced at each other and finally looked at me. “It’s on us, Mr. Ramsey,” the receptionist announced cheerfully. “Merry Christmas!”
“Thank you,” I mouthed as I fought back tears.
Both employees smiled as I headed for the door and exclaimed in perfect harmony, “Merry Christmas!”
***
I never forgot that Christmas Eve and I’ve been paying it forward ever since. Recently, I had a chance to help another young man when the fall semester was ending at the college where I work part-time.
I had graded the online submissions of students who had obviously worked through the early hours of morning to meet their deadline, but Ignacio was one short. He had completed five of the assignments, the last of which had been stamped at 4:57 a.m. He was now standing before my desk, looking a wreck with dark circles under his eyes. The quiet freshman was nervously wringing his hands together. He looked like he was going to throw up. He barely spoke except to weakly whisper, “good morning,” as he shook my hand.
“Wow, Ignacio!” I proclaimed. “You sure were burning the midnight oil! You got a lot turned in! Way to go!”
“Uh, about that. . .” he choked, unable to finish. He swallowed and tried again to no avail.
“Listen,” I offered quietly. “You’ve been such a great student this semester. I really appreciate you being in every class and always participating. You know, my grades aren’t due until next Saturday. What if I give you until Friday to get the rest of the work done?”
I could see the tears forming at the corners of his tired eyes. He trembled a bit and let out a sigh of relief. He mouthed the words, “thank you,” and shook my hand again.
“Merry Christmas, Ignacio!” I hollered as he headed to the door. “Now, go home and get some sleep!”
~Tim Ramsey
